A Child's Cry
by ForeverRumbelle
Summary: The babe he comforts in his arms is a victim; a victim of the price of light magic. She is in pain, and she lives in constant fear. How can he help the little one cradled against him? Will they both find their second chance with each other?
1. The Light of the Sea

**I do not own any of the once upon a time characters.**

The Light of the Sea

Rumpelstiltskin scowls. Those pesky magical insects had been driving him up and down the wall with their screeches for help for the past three months. Why would the damn creatures need help with dark magic? Why not go to the sorcerer, or Elsa, or the White Witch but no, _Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin, please help us, Rumpelstiltskin!_ Three months of chants and cries for help. And yet even if he did help them, in a short matter of time they would be trying to ruin his life again. Not that it wasn't already ruined enough – they had taken Bae away from him! Gave the child a bean he should have never even known about.

 _Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin, please help us, we are trapped, please, we are dying, help us!_ He throws the table across the dining room. Fine. Perhaps the vermin have something good to offer him. The dark one prowls around the back of his skull, itching for a deal. _You know that you want it, Rumpelstiltskin, just go take a little peak. Just to make sure that they don't have anything before you refuse a deal with something that holds the only power able to weaken you. You know how much you hate them . . . make them suffer._

With a flick of his wrist he is dressed in his giant cuffed dragon skinned coat with black leather pants. Fine. He would go see the little pests. Perhaps they could actually be sorry. Or, even better, he would make them so. They would make a fine decoration in the dark castle, strewn about the walls with pins stabbed through their throats.

With a poof of purple smoke he appears in a dungeon deep underground in King Neptune's cave. Trapped are the fairies in a haze of his magic, tangled in seaweed with bubbles of oxygen the only thing keeping them alive. Rumpelstiltskin smirks, satisfied at the sight. Clearly he isn't the only one annoyed with the constant chatter and gossip they seem to enjoy spreading.

"Now, now dearies," he says, pulling his hands up in his signature way. "I do think after three months of hearing your pesky voices I am tempted to simply relocate you to my bug collection. How does that sound?" The horrified look on their faces satisfies him enough. He turns to Rhuel Ghorm. "Now what do you little wasps have to offer for your freedom? Assuming that is what you want of course," he adds smugly. She frowns and he gets on one knee, baring his teeth at her. "Oh!" he exclaims, jumping up in delight. "Of course, how could I have not thought of that!"

"Thought of what," she responds nervously.

"You know," he says, bending again. "You really shouldn't think so loud." He stands as their heads all turn, watching him intently. "I shall release you if you grant me the source of your power." Gasps and whispers run through the trapped fairies, along with astonished looks and a few who just seem to pass out right there and then. Who knew what the object was – or even if he could handle it without protection. Light magic is lethal to someone as dark as him.

"Fine," Rheul Ghorm says. "Set me free and I will give it to you. I do warn you though, it isn't something that one like you would like to have in your grasp." He lets out a shrill of delight and with a few simple spells, she is released. She transports away and he follows with his darker magic.

The first thing he notices as he appears is the stench that floods over him. He keels over and tries not to hurl the rest of his breakfast across the already damp floor. He hears the sound of chains and follows the fairy down many alleyways and corridors. Her glow is his only source of light. No wonder they kept the object all the way down here. The moment one walked in the stench and noises would have been so repelling they would have been forced to turn. More chains have him stumbling after her.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she calls. "Are you sure you are ready? And are you sure you want it?"

"Dearie, I never go back on my deals," he sputters. "Your power is of no importance to me so shut up and lead me to whatever it is." She points down a hall.

"You will find it in the door at the end. Use a few spells and the door shall open for you. I will be waiting."

"Yes you will, dearie," he spits, "Yes you will." He walks down to the end of the hallway, and notices that it covered in several layers of dark magic. Why would fairies be using dark magic? Recognizing him as the dark one, the magic scatters at his touch, sending the door sliding open against the rocks. The entire building shakes at the motion that hadn't been used in centuries. How disgusting. Even he as the Dark One is appalled by the fairies use of dark magic.

The stench is even stronger as he steps in, peering into the darkness. He shutters as bouts of evil are poured through him at each step, as if he is walking through the depths of hell itself. He curses a few times and is about to call out Rheul Ghorm for a cruel trick when a small whimper echoes through the room.

He squints and notices something naked, shivering in the corner of the room.

"Dearie?" he calls out. It doesn't move, and he carefully approaches the small creature. "Hello?" He pokes it and it screams, rolling, grasping, crawling to the other side of the room. Its cries . . . her screams echoing through the building as anger boils inside of him. How could they do this? To a child? She is just a babe, yet is completely mutilated and naked and horrified. He goes to pick her up and she runs from him, crying. The little girl is drenched in her own feces. How could they do this? For the expense of magic? A child's suffering? He is forced to place a sleeping spell on her before he carries her out, cradling her limp body across his chest.

"Still want it?" Rhuel Ghorm asks, disgusted. He holds back his rage at the comment, along with tears and everything else he feels for the girl.

"Why?" he growls quietly. They began making their way out and the doors shut behind him. With a few whispers the other fairies are freed; although, he does not go to the extent to untangle them. The weaker ones will drown. Their death satisfies him. He ought to kill them all for the dear one in his arms.

"She is pure, a product of true love and a first born. Therefore, she produces light. We take her light to give us our magic leaving her to torment and rot away where you found her. We have no choice . . . without her sacrifice the world would have been left with you; and you, being the demon that you are, would have destroyed the enchanted forest with darkness." The fairy disappears, using the last of her magic before it is drained from her feeble body. He had never hurt a child . . .not once. If anything, it pained him to see the way they always ran from him in fear, and especially the way parents used him as a threat to get them to listen. He looks down at the sleeping babe before transporting them back to the dark castle.

 _Page Break_

The child awakes in his arms once they enter his bedroom. He had made sure before waking her that there be enough light in the room for her to see, but not too much. Who knows how old this child is . . . how long she had spent in darkness? She groggily opens her eyes and he notices that they are a beautiful hazel color, speckled in light blue, green, and brown. How unique.

Weak and exhausted, the little one begins to whimper, afraid but unable to run. He whispers softly to her, walking her around the room, needing to calm her before introducing her to the bath. The shock of it all could only make the experience more traumatizing.

"It's alright now, little one. I promise, I will keep you safe. I promise," he whispers. Feeling no pain in his gentle grip and sensing the calmness in his voice, her whimpers turn to soft cries. He shifts her a bit and decides to fill the bath manually, giving her time to adjust. Using magic would speed things up to a level someone as traumatized as her would in no way be able to handle. She begins to cry again and he rocks her a bit against his chest. Had she ever even seen water?

He pours a few sweet smelling vials into the bath, content at the bubbles that form at the top of the water. He begins to place her inside but she panics, splashing the water all over the place. He takes her out and walks her soaking body across the bathroom, praying that she quiet down.

The water seeps through his leather and he rids it with a flick of his wrist. She lays her head over his heart as he rubs circles on her back.

"It's alright, darling. Rumple's here. We are just going to take a little bath and you will be all clean and ready for the night. I promise, okay?" he whispers. She trembles against him.

An hour later, he sits on the side of the tub and tries once again to lower her in. She struggles and begins to wail as he sits her in the water, her nails digging into his arms. He sighs. Fail. Utter fail. But how else is the child to bathe? She is covered in feces and cuts that had to be disinfected and bandaged properly. There is no way around taking a good, long, bath.

With a sigh of defeat, he steps into the bath and cradles her against his chest. Her cries soften and he takes a washcloth on the bottom of the tub. He didn't know if her panic ended because of the exhaustion, or if he had managed to calm her. Whatever it was, he is grateful. He tries to clear her of the waste and blood that sticks to her skin and begins to hum, hoping that perhaps the noise will distract her from being bathed. The vials he had placed in the tub should relieve most of the pain. The girl is only in war with her fear.

Although the color of the child's hair was impossible to determine in its matted, filthy state, his shampoo is quick to clear it of its grim. Her hair is thick, and runs past her shoulders in little waves. Once he untangles it with his fingers and the aid of conditioner, he cannot help but notice rare color. It is a light orange, with a few light blonde strands running through across the locks. _A product of true love and a first born._ For all of those he had seen, this one certainly qualified as the most beautiful.

Rumpelstiltskin scowls, the memory of the fairies and their hidden darkness returning. He would have to place a spell on all the future children of this kind. Nobody deserves to be treated as brutally as the little babe in his arms. Next time – they would face the true wrath of the dark one.

He looks down and notices that she has fallen asleep against him, the soft splashes of the warm water and his heartbeat having calmed her. For the first time, she is filled with peace. Her little hands find their way across his neck as he stands, wrapping her in a towel.

"Shh, little one, it's alright dear, I promise. We are just going to dry you off a bit; just a little bit and you can go to bed." He lays her down on his comforter and dries her off, going ahead and taking the freedom to rub different creams across her shivering form. The cuts are not life threatening, but they needed to heal. She begins to cry as he dries her private parts. The amount of urine she had sat in had irritated the area badly and as he looks closer, he isn't at all sure that nothing more had happened to the girl. He was not able to prove it, but it was clear enough that she had been taunted in ways that are too evil for him to even wrap his mind around.

It isn't long before she is crying again, and he is forced to magically place a soft nightgown on her body. If it rubbed against the scabs, the pain would be nearly unbearable.

He picks her up again and lays her in a crib beside his own bed. He turns down the candles before cleaning the bathroom with a flick of his wrist and changing his bed sheets. He lays down, and listens to her cry and writhe on her little mattress. How long had it been since she had eaten? What do you feed a three year old? For all he knew, she didn't even know how to chew correctly.

He conjures some warm milk and honey, checking the temperature on his wrist before setting it on his nightstand. The child looks at him in fear as he picks her back up, laying her back against his stomach. She would need to sleep, and he knew he couldn't coddle her all the time. If it weren't for the torture she had endured, perhaps she would be able to sleep naturally. That must be it . . . the child must be unable to process the difference between when to be afraid and when to not be. It makes perfect sense.

As soon as she finishes the milk he pulls the covers over them, laying her on her side against his chest. She moves until her hand is over his heart, and it doesn't take long for her breathing to deepen, and her soft little snores to flow through the room. How had he ever come upon such a blessing? He didn't deserve to have her; to have a second chance at caring for a child. He begins to think of all the parents, and the children they had asked for. She should be in a real family . . . not in his poor excuse for a home. He rubs little circles into her back, a tear falling at the little ones misery. How could he have not sensed it? How could she have suffered for so long?

 **Hey! This has been a project I have been wanting to do for a long time; but haven't actually known how to go through it. I hate fairies and wanted to prove that they are not all light, and that they are actually very dark in many ways. What do you all think? Please let me know any thoughts, questions, or comments!**


	2. When Tears Fall

**I do not own any of the once upon a time characters.**

When Tears Fall

Rumple awakes to the child crying against his chest, pleading something in words he is unable to understand through her tears. How long has she been like this? He usually isn't a sound sleeper . . .dreaming of his precious Bae falling through the abyss before his eyes, leaving him forever. He sighs, swallowing the lump in his throat and gently pulling back the sheets that cover them. She doesn't move, just cries against his chest and folds her hands, as if asking for something. He lifts her up onto his lap and realizes why her tears fall. Vomit stains her clothes from the milk and her diaper is nearly soaked through with urine.

"Hey," he whispers. She keeps her eyes shut, as if looking at him will bring forth anger. He sits up farther and pulls her away from his chest. If she would just find the trust to look at him, just to look into his eyes and see that anger is the last thing on his mind.

He brings the sheet up, gently wiping her nose and tears. She continues to cry and he sets her on his lap, taking the bottom of her nightgown to lift it from her body. He struggles for many minutes – her fear driving her to flail. She never strikes him though . . . he notices how careful she is to never hit him or any object around her. The babe lives in fear . . . a fear that she is going to be punished for every last thing she utters out of her innocent mouth and every action she finds herself unable to control.

Once the nightgown is properly removed he picks her up and begins to carry her back to the bathroom. She curls into his chest like an infant, as if it is the only safe place she knows.

"Dearest, we just need to take another bath, alright?" he says softly. Who knows if she even knows how to speak. The only way she communicates are with her tears, and her hands. He brings his fingers gently into the nape of her neck. "Hey little one, you are going to be alright. I promise, if the only thing I spend the rest of my life doing is caring for you and my son I will. You are such a sweet little girl, I know it, and so beautiful. You just had a little accident. I can fix it, I promise I can. If you let me give you a bath, I promise that I will be able to clean you up and make you all beautiful, just as you were last night." He continues to talk, hoping that his soft voice will penetrate through her endless crying. The tub is filled within a matter of minutes, and he is careful to use the same scents he had used the night before. At the sound of the water being turned off, he nearly drops the child as her head turns to look. Thankfully, magic keeps her from falling as he tightens his one arm grip.

"See," he coaxes, running his fingers through her hair. "Do you remember last night? All the water? And the bubbles? That is what will fix our little problem." She turns and looks at him. Her eyes are swollen and puffy from crying, and he grins a bit at her curious yet fearful gaze. She sniffles a few times and slowly lets her hand out to point to the bath. She pulls it back quickly and looks at him, sniffling again, expecting to be punished. "Do you want in?" he asks. She begins to whimper again as he points to the bath and curls back against his chest. "Oh, of course you do, dear, of course you do. Even Bae would do just about anything for a bath with his Papa when he was a babe."

He remembers those nights when his knee would be in so much pain, he could hardly walk. Usually, he would warm some water by the fire and pour it into the bath they had, hidden in the back of their small home. He would do this for a long time, until it was full and lay there. And every time, _every time_ little Bae would come, having memorized the amount of trips his Papa would take back and forth, and on the eighth trip, his little feet would patter out of bed and he would come to the bathroom, a huge grin on his face. And every time, the sight of his smile, at the thought that his son was pleased with him, that would be the reason they stayed up so late. Bae would listen to his father tell him stories while playing in the water and Rumple would be relieved of the swelling and pain in his knee.

He steps into the bath with her against his chest and she turns her head again, peering down at the bubbles. He sits in the water, slowly rubbing the towel against her again. Over and over she turns her head, as if what was before her was the most majestic thing she had ever laid her little eyes on. When they finish, he takes her free hand, _the one that wasn't holding onto his shoulder with a vice grip,_ and places a handful of bubbles on it. She stares down at it, and then back at him. He continues to talk softly. It seemed whenever he hummed or talked she would resort to crying less and began to let go of her fear. She thinks for a bit, and watching him carefully, she slowly lifts her bubble filled hand into his hair. A grin comes over her face as it drips away.

She opens her hand where he had opened it to place bubbles in it, and he laughs softly. The babe is mesmerized at the bubbles in his hair. She still watches him, and every now and then her eyes will fall in fear but every second that goes by that he doesn't hit her, or scream at her, or claw her, the child's trust grows. Over and over, he places a handful of bubbles into her tiny fingers.

After a few minutes of doing this, he takes some bubbles and gently places it in her hair. She looks up and grins. He could have sworn that her breath hitched a bit in a giggle. She takes more bubbles, herself this time and places it in his hair. They continue their little game until his stomach begins to rumble, and he looks down at her bloated tummy and realizes that she too is in desperate need of sustenance.

But the way her breath hitched, and the little grin that fell upon her face . . . did she even know what laughter was? Did she know what it felt like to be anything but afraid and lonesome? The thought that a child her age had never laughed . . .not once in her innocent life. He puts the thoughts aside. She needed him to be kind, and gentle; certainly not an easy feat for the almighty _**Dark One**_ but attainable if he kept his thoughts in check.

He grabs a towel and wraps it around her tiny body. She curls into his arms as she did earlier as he lifted her from the bed, his chest seemingly the only safe place.

"Calm down, little one, calm down. You will be alright, I promised and I will keep it from now until eternity." He gently dries her and decides to place another nightgown on her. The material is soft and familiar to her from the night before. It wouldn't be fair to force her through the trauma of learning the proper dress of little girls when she can hardly sit through a bath without bursting into tears.

His stomach rumbles again and he places her in the small crib beside his bed. She begins to whimper, but he continues to talk . . .even nonsense at times as he redresses in the bathroom and cleans up the mess. Although she continues to cry, she also stops every few minutes to listen.

She begins to wail as he brushes his teeth. His voice no longer audible through the sound of brushing and she begins to pound on her bed, afraid that he will leave her there. When he does finish, he nearly falls through the door to get to her panicked body, scooping her out of bed and holding her tightly against his chest. He can hardly even prepare for the day without her panicking that he is going to torture her or leave her.

"Shh," he coaxes. "Shh, little one, please, please quiet down. I said I would never leave and I refuse to do so even now. Rumple is right here, I promise I will never let you be alone again." She curls even tighter into his chest, although her screams turn to cries at the sound of his voice. He rubs his fingers through her hair and rocks her a bit.

Thankfully, the child's panic attack ends within the hour, and he carries her tired body downstairs. She doesn't see the way he conjures food at the table, her eyes screwed shut against his silk shirt. He loosens his grip and she begins to cry again, but it must be done. He cannot hold her against his chest forever; and even as much as it breaks his heart to watch the tears that flow down her face, the only way she is going to learn to trust him is when she sees that even if her body isn't in full contact with his, he still isn't going anywhere.

He sits her in his lap and scoots the plate of food closer. At the scent of nourishment, her crying is soon reduced to sniffles. She turns to face him, her eyes wide and questioning. He points to the food.

"Eat it dearie, it isn't going anywhere." She stares at the plate, confused, and he picks up a blueberry. She copies him, painfully slow and watchful, but she does, and even copies him when he places it in his mouth. Except, she goes to place it in _his_ mouth. Not exactly what he was looking for but is easily fixed as he turns her hand back towards her mouth. She eats it, and before long, the two of them are eating berries, crackers, and plain yogurt together. He is forced to assist her with the spoon after she dumps her hand inside the bowl. Normal for someone who has never even set their eyes on silverware. Hopefully the yogurt will restore some of the bacteria in her stomach. If she threw up again he would need to go to even more extreme measures to put some weight on her.

She doesn't eat a lot since her stomach is shrunken from being severely malnourished, but it is a good start for the first meal of the day. She rubs her eyes, which are still a bit swollen from all the crying, and slowly lifts her head.

"Is that better, little one? All better?" She just stares at him, her eyes wide and watchful. He is careful to keep eye-contact with her, something even he is unused to doing but forces himself to do for the little girl. She needed to know that she could trust him . . . that he wasn't going to leave her, ever. He wraps his hands around her waist to pull her closer and she looks down. Carefully, she brings her hands to one of his. He opens it, curious about what she will do. Has she seen a hand that isn't ready to strike her before? Has the babe ever known the gentleness of another human being towards her fragile body?

She brings her hand to his and opens it, his hand dwarfing her tiny one. They match together, his hand rough and scaly while her skin is soft. She looks back up at him.

"God?" she asks, not able to form a complete sentence. He shakes his head, holding back tears. He hadn't done hardly anything for her . . . only bathed her and fed her and provided a little comfort and yet through all this she thought that he was a deity.

"No little one, not that at all," he responds softly. She looks down. He can see the wheels spinning in her head as she tries to make sense of her new life.

"Is it dream?" Her voice fades at the last word and she allows her hand to fall from his. He stares at her, stumped on what to do. It would be difficult to prove that this was real; that she wasn't dreaming.

"No, child, not a dream. I am really here, and you are too." She looks back up and he taps her nose. "Lets say that we name you today . . . or at least this week dearie. Names are a powerful thing. Perhaps then you can see you are not dreaming."

"A name!" she gasps, her mouth gaping and her eyes wide as saucers. Clearly she knew what it was . . . but had never been given one.

"Of course, dear, a name. You need one too – perhaps we can pick one out together." She shakes her head.

"No. You do it." Her eyes then soften as she realizes that she had just told him no, that she had been bad and disobedient. He feels her tense underneath his grip. He lifts her a bit and sets her on the ground.

"Alright then, I shall do it dearie. Whatever you say." He begins to walk away and she stares at him. He turns, motioning for her to follow. It takes her a long while to walk, being that she is weak and still exhausted from her previous life in the torcher chamber but she manages to make it to his spinning room. She points to the couch and looks at him. The question is in her mind . . . whether or not she can just sit there without being punished but when he gives her a slight push towards it, she decides that her sitting there isn't going to anger him.

For a long while she sits at the end of the couch, staring at him work. She doesn't find the fact that he is spinning straw into gold odd at all. Who knows what her little mind had come up with while living in the dark. He is also relieved that although the large room seemed to startle her at first, it hasn't left any permanent damage. She may have lived in a small cave for years, but new things don't frighten her nearly as much as the thought of being punished.

If he can keep her in a calm state of mind, by the time of a few months she will return to being a normal, healthy child. A piece of her will always remember her past. Thankfully though, they kept her at a young enough age that she will not remember it enough to re-live it, or easily fall back into bad habits.

He looks up for a moment and notices that she has fallen asleep curled against the arm of the couch. How long had it been since she had slept without fear? What had his dear one been put through on accord of those malicious fairies?

He places a blanket over her and kisses her forehead before returning to the wheel. _Let her rest, Rumple. Let her rest. Just make sure that when she wakes, you are right there to hold her against your chest and wipe her little tears away. Make sure she knows that you will never leave her, and that whether she wakes or sleeps you will always be there. Make sure she knows that you are the one she can go to when she is in pain. Be the one who gives her a kind of love she will always cherish._

 ** _Hey everyone! This chapter was a bit harder to write, but I thought that at three years of age she should at least have a little vocabulary to express her feelings. Children do adjust quickly, which is why she isn't still crying all the time as she was in the first chapter. Thank you all for your encouragement and hope you enjoy this one just as much!_**


	3. Little Beloved One

**I do not own any of the Once Upon a Time Characters.**

Dearly Beloved

With a few last whispered commands, the spinning room is finished. Gold lines the ceilings while balloons and other beautiful decorations cover the rest of the room. It had taken him three days of roaming about the castle to decide which rooms to decorate for the special occasion. She deserved the best – more probably then even he could provide. Today is the most special day of all though, today was the day she would learn what he had decided to name her.

He hears her whimper and magics into the bathroom, washing his hands and walking out as if he had been there all along. She stands at the edge of her crib, looking around frantically.

"It's just me, baby, I promise." Her eyes soften at the sound of his voice, and he lifts her over the wooden frame. She lays her head against his chest. "You are still tired, aren't you my little angel," he whispers. She nods.

Because she would be unable to sleep if he left, he decides to take her down to the dining room to feed her instead. Not once had she ever complained of hunger, or even pain. He would never know if her bath water was too cold, or she if she was having a bad reaction to food. She wouldn't ever tell him. It was awful, how she never, ever complained. It frightened him.

She takes the warm milk quickly and downs it in minutes. With a flick of his wrist the decorations are finished for the day. She hands him the glass and he sets it on the table. "Do you want any more?" She shakes her head.

Rumple begins to walk out and as usual, she follows right behind him. He had tried to create some sort of routine, knowing that it would give her security to have an idea of what every day would hold. But today, he was going out of the routine. Way out of routine. Isn't that life though? He couldn't pretend that every day was going to be the same. She had to be prepared for every situation, and it was his responsibility to teach her.

Before they enter the hall, he stops, bending on one knee to be at her level. She stares at him.

"Spinning?" she asks, looking down the hallway. He knew that she was used to finishing her afternoon nap on the couch across from the spinning wheel. She must have picked up the word from him talking about it so much.

"No, not today." Her eye brows come together as she thinks. It is adorable, how expressive she is with her facial expressions and body language. It seems that since she was never given the chance to use language where she was before, she had learned to compensate with her body. Habits are difficult to break, but he wouldn't call her inability to hide her emotions a bad one. He waits, not moving until she asks the question rolling around in her head. He would not raise her to depend on his ability to read her thoughts.

"What do we do?" she asks.

"Ah ha!" he says, tapping her nose. She watches him carefully as he stands. "We are going to have a party."

"A party?" she asks. He then realizes that they probably hadn't celebrated anything with her before. She didn't even know what it was.

"That's right, dearie," he says. "We are going to celebrate because of the name I have chosen for you." The word name brings a small grin on her face, and her eyes light up with happiness.

"What do we do?" she asks again. He bends and picks her up, satisfied at her heavier frame. She wraps her arms around his neck and lays down on his shoulder.

"First, we get dressed for the party." He takes her upstairs and goes through a couple drawers until he finds a light green dress. The color would bring out her eyes beautifully. She watches him warily from the corner. "Do you like this one?" he asks. She walks up and touches the silk, staring at the dress in wonder.

"For me?" she asks.

"Of course it is for you! Does it look like it would fit me, dearie?" She grins and lifts her hand to touch the dress again.

"Thank you," she says, wrapping her arms around his leg. He looks at the dress again. It was pretty, but plain compared to some of the other ones he had either made for her, or bought. Clothes had been something he had been introducing slowly. He was only two weeks into their relationship.

"It's nothing, dearie," he mumbles, brushing it off. She pushes back and looks at the dress again, and then back down at her clothes.

"Do you remember what to do?" he asks. She bends and after struggling for a long while, is able to force the dress off. Her body is healed now, the bruises almost completely faded and the cuts gone. He points to the bathroom where she uses the chamber pot, and even remembers to wash her hands. His little girl is a very fast learner. The door opens and she walks out with a brush. She stands in front of him but becomes shy, certain fears returning as she holds it. Rumple lays the dress on his bed.

"Do you want me to brush your hair?" he asks. She nods. He gently pulls the dress over her frame and buttons it up. "Then I shall do so." Her hair is long, falling way past her shoulders. The brush glides through its silky texture with ease though, and she sits patiently on his lap as he tries to de-tangle it as gently as he can.

Once they finish preparing, her dress on and her hair brushed, she nearly jumps off the bed, running to the fire where the light is and spinning in a circle.

"Pretty?" she asks, smiling. He grins, never having seen her this happy.

"Pretty? You are beautiful, my Luvena Winter Fawn." She stands there for a moment, staring at him with her mouth gaping.

"Is it my name?" she says breathlessly. Rumple nods and she runs up to him, jumping and knocking him over on the bed. Her arms wrap around his neck as she holds him tightly. Small tears fall on his shoulder as tears fall down her cheeks.

"What's wrong, dearest? Do you not like it? I have others I can choose from," he responds quickly. She shakes her head violently.

"Fairy said I have no name. I can't have name cause im bad and not like others. I can make nobody happy." He shakes his head and cups her face in his hands, wiping away her tears.

"She was wrong, Luvena. Very wrong. You make me the happiest man in the world."

"So I'm good? Will you hit me if I'm bad?"

"Luvena, Luvena," he whispers, bringing her eyes back to his. She had to see that she could trust him, that he would never hit her. "You are a wonderful child. Very, very good and you make me happy and Luvena Winter, I will never hurt you. I promise. I promise to never hit you." She stares into his eyes for a few moments, as if looking deeper to be assured that he was serious. He strokes her cheek gently with his calloused thumb.

"Do you know what your name means?" he asks. She shakes her head, and lays back down on his chest where she always goes when tired, or emotionally distressed. "Your name means exactly what you are to me, my Little Beloved One." She raises her head and places her small hand on his cheek, her brow furrowed.

"You love me?" she asks. His eyes begin to tear at the thought of her never being told she was loved, of living her whole life thinking she was impossible to love. That nobody could be happy with her.

"Yes, darling," he chokes, his brogue heavy with sorrow. "How could I not?" Her eyes light up and she smiles wildly.

"Tell me again," she asks quickly, excited. "With my name." He runs his fingers through her hair and kisses her forehead.

"Luvena Winter Fawn," he whispers in her ear, "I, Rumpelstiltskin Gold love you." He looks down and notice the tears that continue to fall from her eyes, but is relieved to know that they are not tears that come from her fear, or even sadness. He had never seen something mean so much to a three year old in his life, that they would cry. Again, she hardly expresses her feelings in words, but with her body. It is what makes her so unbelievably special.

Gently, he rubs her nape with his fingers as she lays back down on his chest. She mumbles the word love over and over, and lifts her hand to play with his hair.

"Do you want to celebrate the rest of the party?" he asks.

"What's a party?"

"Do you want me to show you?" She smiles and he stands, wincing at the clear breach of his barriers. He had a good guess of who had arrived . . . he never was one to miss a party. The little girl sits on the bed as he walks out, transporting downstairs in a could of purple smoke.

"Well Rumple," he hears as he appears in the doorway, "What's all the decorations for? Your birthday? I thought after celebrating 278 of those alone you wouldn't bother to summon me." He rolls his eyes and guides Jefferson to the spinning room.

"This isn't about me. It is about a little girl I found and have been trying to help recover after she was forced to live in a hellhole for who knows how many years."

"Wait," Jefferson says. "You mean she was real?"

"Who's real?"

"The fairies actually put a child at the mercy of demons and unclean spirits to give them their power?" At the sound of his knowledge, he grabs Jefferson by the throat, lifting him against the wall.

"You knew," he growls.

"It was . . .was a ru-rumor, Rumple," he chokes out. At this he drops him, leaving him a bruised heap on the floor.

"Tell me more, dearie, before I ring your neck." Jefferson proceeds to give him the age of the child, and the story behind her grand disappearance from a kingdom near Arendelle. He stops him before he can continue with nonsense.

"So you are saying the child has been trapped for thirty years in that awful place, you heard rumors, and did nothing to even try to confirm them?"

"Listen Rumple," he says, trying to soothe his friend and save his life. "If I would have known I would have told you long ago, but gossip between the realms is very overwhelming, and most of the time either twisted or not even true." He moves closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Trust me, this news angers me just as much as it angers you. Just imagine, my precious Grace being trapped there. As a parent, I would have risked my life to save her." He hears little footsteps and turns to Jefferson.

"I will go get her. But if you ever hear anymore rumors like that, give me the joy of revealing them or else I shall revel in the joy of crushing you under my boot. Understand, dearie?" He nods his head and notices how Rumple's eyes soften before disappearing. He must truly love this girl, to set up the hours worth of decorations just around the one room. What were they even celebrating? He shakes his head. Sometimes, Rumple could be so thickheaded. Had he even thought about what the girls reaction to another human being would be? For all she knew, Rumple and her were the only ones to exist.

"Please be gentle with her, Rumple," he whispers. "Please." Of course, if Jefferson would have seen how gentle his friend had been with the little girl before, he would have never questioned his ability to raise her. After all, she thought he was a god.

 _ **Hey everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews! They have encouraged me so much and given me a lot of incite on how to continue! Please, any advice helps, I am trying to make it as realistic as possible, and just as enjoyable! Spoiler alert: Luvena may laugh for the first time in the next chapter. Sshhh.**_


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